


Merry and Bright

by Honeymull



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2011-2012 team, M/M, New York Rangers, endgame Dubi/Artie, indulgentfic, teamfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-12
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-04 11:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1080510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeymull/pseuds/Honeymull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rangers go sledding.</p><p>Mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Merry and Bright

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old (barely) cleaned-up emailfic I wrote in a defensive, SUPER self-indulgent spiral after a loss a couple years ago. It's the kind of thing that's so fluffy and dumb you want to take a melon-baller to your eyeballs, with all the lolridiculous escapism you could want. Don't even try to say I didn't warn you.

They go out as a team in mid-December. There's no games for a three-day stretch, and it only takes a little over an hour and a half to find the cabin. It's set back in the woods, far enough outside the city that it feels reclusive and close. It's supposed to be a team-bonding trip, but it's mostly just an excuse to get away, be lazy, spend the time kicked-back and relaxing. 

It starts to snow sometime in the afternoon while they're all driving out and they don't pay much attention to it, until it's dark and they've had dinner ages ago and done all small-talk catching-up, the little stupid presents and they're all just kind of laying around laughing and being drowsy and tipsy. And then Artie, who's kind of been wandering around a little, goes to the window and taps his knuckles against the glass, just enough to make some of them look over. "Is snowing," he says.

Dubi makes a "duh" face (Artie makes one back) and Boyle raises his eyebrows, but Prusty actually stands up and goes over to him. "No, but. Guys, it like, really came down. Wow." He pokes at Artie. "S'pretty," and Artie smiles.

Marty stretches a little and places his beer on the coffee table. "Kids're gonna want to go sledding tomorrow."

Prusty nods absently, wandering away from the window, then seems to process that. He flops back into his seat, punching Boyle in the ribs. "Man, I want to go sledding."

Boyle fends him off with an elbow, huffs a laugh. "Don't think I've been sledding since I was twelve. Before then." He catches Artie's eye, and Artie makes a little swooping hand motion, questioning. "Yeah, sledding. 'Tobogganing', I guess, for our good ol' Canadian boys."

Staal flips him off mid-chug.

Dubi groans, standing up. "We should, though. Go sledding. There's a hill behind the garages, right?" He sways just a little. "Fresh air, eh, who wants to go?"

"Eh, what the fuck, I'm in." DZ stands up and knocks a shoulder into Dubi on his way to the kitchen. Dubi blinks and takes another swig of his drink.

Hank cracks a smile. "Yeah, okay." He nudges Brad, and Brad rolls his eyes. "Okay, I just want to see Dubi fall on his ass in the snow trying to get on the sled."

Prusty grins. "I think that's what we're all coming to see."

Artie's been quiet, but he's smiling now, in a quiet, kind of confused way. "We have sled?"

 

| |

 

Twenty minutes later, they're shivering in the snow behind the garages. Boyle dumps his armful of industrial-sized trash bin lids at the top of the hill. "Prusty's first."

"Aww, that's cute," Dubi says.

Prusty just claps his mittened hands together and bounces in place a little. "Hey, you come up with an idea this good and you can go first."

Hank murmurs something to Gabby, but they're hanging back a little more, watching everything with a critical eye, so Prust can't tell if it's a dig or what. He eyeballs them a little, just in case, and Gabby gives him a wide, shit-eating grin. Motions him toward the first lid with an inviting sweep of his hand. "We're waiting."

"I'm going, jeez." Prust situates the lid on the brink of the hill, clambers on and folds himself awkwardly into it. He grips the sides, then starts to push off when Artie catches it with his foot. "Wait, wait, it-", he doesn't finish, but hunches down to twist the lid around so the handle doesn't dig into the snow and impede the launch.

Prusty smiles up at him when Artie lets him go. "Thanks, man."

He thinks Artie blushes a little, but it's probably just the cold. He sketches a little salute back at Prust.

Boyle's trying not to smirk, and then DZ is lurching forward (has he been sharing whatever's in the bottle Dubi brought out with him?) and planting a foot on the back of the lid. "Okay, ready, Pruster? Three, two-" he gives the shove at "two", and Prust hollers as he goes hurtling down the hill in a spray of snow and ice.

DZ looks around innocently. "Who's next?"

 

| |

 

Inside, Danny and Cally come stumbling out of one of the upstairs bedrooms. Everything's quiet. They exchange a glance - Danny reaches out absently to straighten Cally's collar - and make their way into the rest of the house.

"...Guys?" Cally calls. His voice carries in the empty rooms. 

There's nobody here.

Danny shrugs. "Guess they went out." He opens the fridge. "Want a beer?"

Cally doesn't say anything, and Danny looks back at him. Cally's at the window, staring out into the night with a wrinkled forehead.

Danny comes to look over his shoulder. Boyle's in the midst of forcibly dumping Hags out of what looks like a giant Rubbermaid lid, sending him sprawling on his ass in a flurry of snow. "Oh, for fucks' sake...", Cally murmurs, half-smiling but knocking his forehead against the cold glass.

Danny grins and hides it in Cally's neck. "That's your team, Captain."

 

| |

 

Staal's on his way to drunk, and getting there faster by way of the half-full bottle of Jim Beam Dubi's passing around like it's water. He's not planning on going down the hill. Rubbermaid lids aren't the best makeshift sled, and he knows from a long childhood of being pushed down hills on snow shovels and cookie sheets and folded-up lawn chairs (that one didn't work, unless you count Jordan flipping ass-over-face down the hill four times in a row). The best sled without a sled is a yoga mat. He's not doing this shit unless they have the best, and he's pretty sure none of the guys were planning on doing a little downward facing dog over the weekend.

He laughs when DZ inches to an inexplicable stop halfway down the hill on his turn, takes another burning swig of Dubi's whiskey, and tries to remember to text Eric tomorrow about going sledding again next time they're all up at home.

 

| |

 

Artie resists his turn until Boyle manhandles him into the lid. He's all gangly limbs, eyes bright with drink and excitement even as he struggles to maintain a pout. "Want to -watch-, now I get cold..." He glares up at Boyle, and Boyle beams down at him.

"We'll warm you up when you get back, don't worry," he says, and then groans as Dubi shouts with laughter and Prusty's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "WITH ALCOHOL," Boyle yells over the hoots.

Even Hank is grinning wide, one hand on Marty's shoulder as Marty throws his head back, howling, somehow still able to connect with Dubi's fistbump.

The cold isn't a problem anymore as Artie goes hot all over. He bites his lips to keep in a smile, though, and Prusty rolls his eyes at everyone else good-naturedly. "Ready to go, Artie?", Prusty asks quietly.

Artie nods, and Prusty smiles at him, before planting a hand at the small of his back and giving him a hearty push, feet slid-sliding in the snow. "Feel free!"

 

| |

 

"We should probably go out and make sure they're not breaking their necks out there."

Danny snorts behind him and tightens his hand against Cally's hip. "They're fine. They're -dumb- but they're fine. We're staying in where it's warm."

He can imagine Cally's raised eyebrows when Cally says, "Oh are we," just to be contrary.

Danny hums. "Mm-hmm." Noses in under Cally's ear, puts his teeth lightly against the thin skin there. Cally shivers, and Danny grins inside, delighted.

"...They're pushing each other down an icy hill on trash can lids," Cally rallies after a long moment.

Danny huffs his sigh in a hot, obnoxious breath against Cally's neck, but he's still grinning. "You just want to go sledding yourself."

Cally's slightly guilty silence speaks for itself, but his lips purse like he's trying to hold in a smile. "No."

Danny laughs. "Yes." He tugs Cally around to face him, then pushes him into the wall next to the window. Leans in and brackets Cally in with his body. Cally slumps, instinctively going a little boneless, and that's never going to get old for Danny. He darts in for one impromptu peck before hauling Cally upright. "So high maintenance. Come on then, let's go sledding."

 

| |

 

Gabby sees them coming first and throws up an arm in greeting. Hails, "Cap-i-tan!"

Dubi turns around and windmills as he loses his balance. "Cally! Danny G, c'mover here."

It's starting to snow again, very lightly. Tiny, icy flecks that drift down and sting against Cally's cheeks. He turns his collar up higher and raises his eyebrows at the huddle of his team standing around drunk here in the middle of the night. "Hey, boys. What's going on?"

Artie ducks under Dubi's arm to steal his alcohol. "Sledding," he says, voice thick as he swallows. He sways into Dubi's side and Cally narrows his eyes. Artie's Russian. He doesn't get drunk.

He ignores it for now. Danny knocks into his side, shoulder pressing against him through their coats. "How's that working out for you, eh?" Danny says.

Boyle trudges over, dragging a trash can lid that's been split down the middle. He throws it at Dubi's feet. "Fatass over here broke one of the sleds."

Dubi giggles, and Cally knows he's not the only one that starts to grin at it.

Dubi gets himself under control after a second and points a wavering finger at Prusty. "Prusty broke it. I was, I was taking my turn and he pushed me." He leans in, and Cally makes a face at him. "He pushed me into a _tree_ , Cally. _Cally_. A tree." 

Before Dubi's face falls off under the weight of his scowl, there's a distinct sound of crunching gravel, echoing through the trees and filtering back to their hill.

“Minnesota boys are here.” Rupp levers himself up from where he'd been perched on a stump. He lopes off toward the garages.

Cally motions for the bottle of Jim as they wait for him to return. Dubi relinquishes it reluctantly – there's only about a finger or two left, swishing around in the bottom. Cally coughs a little at it. “Is this just pure backwash by now? Fuck.”

Danny helps himself to a healthy swig, too, and then Rupp's bark of laughter rings out in the quiet night. He's flanked by Step, Bicks and McD, Sauer trudging a little bit behind them as they round the buildings into view.

Step breaks out in a wide grin, gives them all a dorky little wave as Boyle throws out his arms, yelling in welcome. “Sledding, huh? McD and I just went up in Minnie.”

Prust hoists up one of the lid-sleds. “Our sledding is better.”

Step's head goes back as he laughs, delighted. "Oh man, that's brilliant. Who thought this one up?" He's already claiming one of the lids, putting it into position on the slope. McD kicks snow at him, flicking it up with the toe of his show.

Boyle points at Prust, who beams. "But Dubi only brought the one bottle, so blame him for any sobriety."

Sauer clears his throat. "Actually..." He reaches into his heavy coat and produces a bottle. "That won't really be necessary."

"Good boy," Gabby says, coming over to examine it. "Tequila, Sweet? Hmm."

Sauer shrugs, letting him have it, smiling in self-satisfaction. "It's alcohol."

Gabby wanders back to Hank with it. "That it is." He toasts Hank, taking the first pull and passing it on.

 

| |

 

The Minnesota boys have their turns as the night gets darker, colder. The snow reflects the faint light from the house and garages, washing the hill in a dim glow.

Hank leaves after the first snowball lands in his hair. He shakes his hair like a dog and combs through it with his fingers to get the snow out. “Really?” he asks, looking around.

He gets wide-eyed innocence from everyone. Hagelin shows his teeth on a grin and surreptitiously points at Steps, who holds his arms out. It's a supplicatory gesture. “Oh, come *on*. I'm standing right in front of you. It wasn't me.”

Hank bends down, gathers a huge handful of snow between his sleek gloves, and slowly starts crafting it into a ball.

Steps hauls Hags in front of him and ducks down ineffectively. “Henke, I love your hair. I wouldn't do that!” he insists from behind him.

“My countryman wouldn't lie to me, Derek,” Hank says calmly.

“Yes, he would! He so would! He just did!”

Hagelin doesn't even bother trying to get out of being used as a human shield; he's too busy trying not to double over laughing.

His snowball perfected, Hank hefts it a few times, eyeballing Stepan and Hags. Without warning, he turns around and lobs it at Rupper, who's been sitting straight-faced, watching with interest.

It hits Rupper in the jaw, trickling down his collar, and he sputters, but he's cracking up and almost falls off his stump. Hank dusts his hands off, the corners of his lips curled up smugly, and says, “I'm going back in. Too cold.”

Gabby groans as he stands, tosses the tequila bottle underhanded back to Bicks. “I'm with Henke.”

Marty joins them, too, after a bit, jogging to catch up.

Rupper's lying spread-eagled in the snow next to the stump. His laughter's died down and he's staring quietly upwards, seemingly content. “Stars're pretty”, he says after a moment.

He sticks out a foot as Dubi lurches past, and Dubi stumbles, hits the ground with a queasy, *oonf*.

Artie makes his way to Rupp's abandoned stump and perches on it. He toes at Dubi's side with a tentative foot. “Make, ah.” He unwraps his arms from around himself and raises them up, then down in stiff motions. “Angel?”

He hugs himself again, seeks out Boyle to confirm it's the right word. Boyle walks over and kicks snow onto Dubi's coat. Dubi makes a grab for his shoe, and Boyle steps out of reach, amused. “Yeah, snow angels. Artie said to do a snow angel, Dubi. And I mean. It's Artie, so you have to.”

Dubi drunkenly mumbles something about that logic, but he's spreads out and starfishes clumsily in the snow for a few moments anyway.

Artie huddles on the stump, knees drawn up by his chin, and eyes crinkling as he smiles down at him.

Rupp makes a half-hearted attempt to copy Dubi, but gives up after a second, waving Bicks over for the bottle of tequila. He stays sprawled in the snow, peaceful, breathing deeply and clutching the bottle to the thick breast of his coat.

Dubi struggles upright after a while, then almost sends himself straight back down to the ground as he trips over Rupp once again. Artie throws an arm out at the last second and catches his coat, reeling him in until Dubi's standing over him two inches away.

“Uh.”

Artie just blinks up at him, then scoots over, nodding at the space next to him on the stump. Dubi sits down and immediately slumps into Artie's shoulder.

“Shut up,” he slurs when Rupp chuckles and gives Artie a really unsubtle thumbs-up. “Y'r comfy,” he says around his mouthful of Artie's collar.

“Thank you,” Artie says solemnly, and shifts to get his knees back up on the stump without displacing Dubi.

 

| |

 

Dubi's passed out when Boyle comes over again to get Artie. “But you have to see it, man. Just dump him in the snow, he won't even notice.”

Artie's impassive. “What so great about snowman? I see snowman in Yaroslavl.”

Steps trudges up. “It's a snowman of Torts.”

He gets whacked for that, and yelps. “Jeez, Boyler, fucking what?”

Prusty comes up behind him. “Aww, did he give it away?” Steps flinches clear before Prust can smack him, too.

“I didn't know it was a secret!” He rubs the back of his head and pouts at his shoes, then the trees.

Artie sighs, gives Boyle and Prust a disapproving look, and gets to his feet. “Where is?” he asks Steps, and Steps brightens up immediately. “Down at the bottom of the hill!”

Steps insists on sledding there, steering himself into McD, who's coming up the hill, when he's halfway down. McD has time for one dismayed shout before the sled is flipping over and sending them both to the bottom of the hill in a tumble.

Artie picks his way down more carefully, on foot. He shivers over the heap of McD and Steps and waits for them to catch their breath. He looks away when McD levers himself up with a heavy, demanding hand pinning Steps' chest and Steps gasps a little, stares up at McD with wide eyes.

McD clears his throat, though, and hauls Steps up with little ceremony. “So, yeah, uh. Snowtorts.”

Steps is still biting his lip, but he grins at that. “Snowtorts,” he repeats. “Over here.”

It's actually pretty big, and Artie's surprised they managed this half-drunk and in so little time. He walks around it, admiring. “Impress,” he says, congratulatory.

Bicks gives them a little humble bow, coming out of the tree cover with a handfull of sticks. He picks out two and places them carefully above Snowtorts' eyes on angry angles He shrugs when Artie slants him a look. “...Realism.” he offers.

Artie rolls his eyes, but smiles and claps Bicks' shoulder. “Take picture.”

McD huffs a laugh. “That a threat or a suggestion?”

 

| |

 

Artie's pretty sure Rupp's been passed out in the snow for a while now. He'd be worried, but he nudges Rupp with his boot every so often, and Rupp grumbles something, flexes his fingers around the bottle he's still holding at his chest. He's fine.

Rupp being out cold doesn't make Artie gasp any less obvious when Dubi's hand finds its way into Artie lap, though.

Dubi's still so drunk, and his hands are clumsy, but he manages to feel Artie up pretty thoroughly. His hands are big and warm, and Artie bites his lip when Dubi's palm rubs over him just right.

“Dubi?” He twitches away from Dubi's next pass when he feels himself getting hard, craning his neck to try to see Dubi's face, still smushed against Artie's shoulder.

Dubi groans, too-loud even though nobody's around anymore. “Artiiiie...”

Artie goes bright red, the blush prickling under the skin of his neck and cheeks. “Dubi,” he repeats, chastising this time.

Dubi wriggles closer against him in an inelegant hump. He pushes his face against Artie's throat and slurs, “Will you lemmie?” He fingers the outline of Artie's cock in his jeans, already pretty hard embarrassingly quick. “Artie.”

It's with the full intention of pushing Dubi's hand -away- that Artie puts his own hand over Dubi's. But Dubi gasps into Artie's neck, hot and shocked, and bites into the thin skin just a little. “Artie, j'sus, you'd-”

And Artie can't tell him no. His hand falls away to fist at his side. He flicks a long, paranoid look around them, into the darkness and through the trees, before nodding. Dubi probably doesn't even register it; he's too busy undoing Artie's jeans. He's mumbling under his breath, something Artie can't understand, whether it's due to a language or sobriety barrier.

His fingers against Artie's bare skin are a shock. They're not that cold, but the air is. Artie hunches over a little more, planting his feet more firmly in the snow. He feels ridiculous, but Dubi's so drunk and so into this, and...It's Dubi. It's Dubi's hand, wrapped around Artie's cock, playing with the length in inebriated fascination. Artie's not sure what he's supposed to do, if not worry his bottom lip until it's sore so he doesn't moan, if not duck to hide his face in Dubi's hair, mussed and still sweet-smelling.

“S'so pretty,” Dubi huffs out, tightening his grip at the same time.

Artie's eyes close helplessly at the extra pressure, but he snorts. “No.”

“Gotta pr'tty dick,” Dubi insists. He sounds like bad porn, but his voice is petulant. He runs his fingers across the head, traces over and down the foreskin, and it feels so good it almost hurts. Artie curls forward on it.

He's panting, trying to keep watch even as Dubi speeds up his strokes, continues to murmur ridiculous things into the thick breast of Artie's coat. Every upstroke Artie's vigilance falters as his eyes flutter shut involuntarily.

“Dubi...” he whispers, going hot all over, and then Dubi's jerking him off as he comes half in Dubi's hand and half in the snow at their feet. He wants to hide his face as soon as he comes down from it a little, once Dubi's wiping his hand off on the side of the stump and tucking Artie gracelessly back into his pants.

“Tha' was fun.” Artie feels him shiver a little, full-body, and hum contentedly. “Tha' was -hot-. Mmm, fuck.” He slumps right back into Artie, heavy and boneless but awake.

Artie's contemplating pushing him off the stump when Rupp coughs, wakes up abruptly. He stumbles to his feet with significantly more grace than Artie would have given him credit for.

Artie feels his blush start up again, even though they're not doing anything -now- and everything probably looks respectable enough.

“'eeey, Rupper. Y'just missed a really great handjob, man.” Dubi blinks at Rupp guilelessly from where it's resting on Artie's chest, and Artie groans with embarrassment, hiding his face and shoving Dubi off the stump unceremoniously.

Rupp makes a series of faces, from confused to disgusted, then stomps over to where Dubi's sprawled, laughing silently, beside the stump. “Stop violating our Russian.” He flicks snow over Dubi's face.

Artie stands, hugging himself against the wind picking up. “I go in,” he mumbles.

Rupp slings an arm over his shoulder and roughly tugs him close. “Leave the pervert in the snow, Artie. Tequila?” He offers the bottle, and Artie finally cracks a tiny smile, slanting a half-apologetic glance down at Dubi, before accepting and taking a swig. 

 

| |


End file.
